Damn you noah...
...for invading into my head.
Angsty!Noah is angsty.
:(
I was so utterly devastated yesterday, I got a little out of control with being angry at Luke…and then at Noah…and then at random cuddly animals…and then back at Luke.
So today, I bought pretty stickers & an epic notebook which cheered me to no end.
I was all eager to write smut or something to make me "smile again" but all I hear is Noah.
Sigh.
That said, this fic is basically Noah on angst-ridden crack. I may not like the guy, but I identify with him, and maybe part of the reason why I dislike him is because we’re so alike, it’s revolting.
So, here goes nothing.
Title: Fight
Rated PG-13
Summary: Noah contemplates his relationships with the two most prominent people in his life.
A/N: I hope a Noah POV fic is accepted here. Let me know if it's not :)
It’s a warm night.
And yet, he is shivering.
He hasn’t moved from the same spot, his legs dangling precariously over the edge of a random rooftop, of some completely unfamiliar building.
He doesn’t give a fuck anymore.
He looks at the tiny cars below him, spots of light moving against each other, the occasional horn blaring a faded sound from an annoyed driver. He takes in a deep breath and notes the hint of summer in the night air. His hands are pressed hard against the cement he is sitting on, grappling somewhat desperately to feel something solid when his everything is crumbling.
His tongue licks the ghost of stale whiskey behind his teeth.
His eyes hurt from crying, but it is numb compared to the punctured hole inside his chest. He is unsure, really, why he is breaking like this. He shouldn’t feel this way. He has no reason to. Logically, he knows that no one is at fault - least of all, him.
Right?
…
Imagine sitting in a box. Your life, your whole life stuck inside four immensely cramped walls. You don’t know the sound of anyone other than the one authoritative voice. You don’t know how hands feel like against your skin other than rough callused palms, hard-hitting against your arms, your back, your face. You don’t know how happiness tastes like when someone smiles because of you. You don’t know the meaning behind a kiss, any kiss at all.
You sit in a box and you wonder, for the longest and loneliest of times, if this is perfection, because you don’t know any other way of living.
And then one day, this wind storm sweeps through your life, gives you armour and a sword, flashing his bright white smile all along, your cold hands warmed up by his breathing. You learn how to smile without building fences around you. You marvel at the way laughter sounds, that it is not jarring and harsh, but fluid and free.
When his hands go around your neck to fix you right, you learn to say no to everything you’ve been taught.
In that one kiss, you fought against your father.
That was the greatest battle you’ve ever partaken.
You killed a part of him, you massacred a part of you.
You are adrift, broken and utterly alone, more alone than you ever remember, and you had no choice but to cling onto your lone life support.
One day, your father was your everything that anchored you into being, that gave life to your name, your existence.
The next, he was your all that made Noah a beautiful word that meant something other than, you ungrateful little shit.
What happened then? Why did you fuck it up so bad, then? Why did you marry Ameera?
…To hold on to a memory, maybe.
To believe in grasping at something that wasn’t there: an image of your father that you never knew existed.
But what about the other things you’ve done?
Pushing him away.
Shoving, and punching, kicking and cursing him away.
He made it all so easy. Giving you a home, emotional support, a brand new spankin’ family, replete with shiny smiles and sparkly Christmases.
He made it too easy.
It used to be in your nature to take, to keep taking, the good things and the bad.
Mostly bad.
He gave you a sword and, you didn’t realize it, but it’s now pointing at him, straight in the chest, threatening to cut out his heart.
Once, you fought against your own blood so you could be with your achingly beautiful wind storm.
And you are not sure what happened, but now you’re fighting against him.
In the sunny horizon that lie within his eyes, you see eager love and human compassion but you also feel the looming walls encroaching your frame.
You fear making him your one and only because you fear he’ll box you in.
And now you’ve shoved him away so hard, you’ve pushed him off the cliff.
He’s in oblivion now and try as you might to convince yourself otherwise, your outreaching fingers cannot touch the fair-haired boy you once fought for.
You may have been blind for a long time but deep down you always knew that the growing lilt in his voice was not because of you.
You knew he was finding happiness somewhere else.
With someone else.
Somewhere above, you hear the uncanny rustling noise of cardboard flaps opening.
You peer into the night sky, breathless by how deep the colour of midnight is.
…
He sits on his bed, the room ink black, as he listens to his broken sobs.
What he needs is solitude to unchain the metal around his wrists, to unwind the rope around his neck.
He knows that he cannot love Luke without breaking him apart.
He knows he’s already lost the boy who is now a man in love with another.
He takes off his armour and hangs up his sword.
He cannot find it in him to fight anymore.
Angsty!Noah is angsty.
:(
I was so utterly devastated yesterday, I got a little out of control with being angry at Luke…and then at Noah…and then at random cuddly animals…and then back at Luke.
So today, I bought pretty stickers & an epic notebook which cheered me to no end.
I was all eager to write smut or something to make me "smile again" but all I hear is Noah.
Sigh.
That said, this fic is basically Noah on angst-ridden crack. I may not like the guy, but I identify with him, and maybe part of the reason why I dislike him is because we’re so alike, it’s revolting.
So, here goes nothing.
Title: Fight
Rated PG-13
Summary: Noah contemplates his relationships with the two most prominent people in his life.
A/N: I hope a Noah POV fic is accepted here. Let me know if it's not :)
It’s a warm night.
And yet, he is shivering.
He hasn’t moved from the same spot, his legs dangling precariously over the edge of a random rooftop, of some completely unfamiliar building.
He doesn’t give a fuck anymore.
He looks at the tiny cars below him, spots of light moving against each other, the occasional horn blaring a faded sound from an annoyed driver. He takes in a deep breath and notes the hint of summer in the night air. His hands are pressed hard against the cement he is sitting on, grappling somewhat desperately to feel something solid when his everything is crumbling.
His tongue licks the ghost of stale whiskey behind his teeth.
His eyes hurt from crying, but it is numb compared to the punctured hole inside his chest. He is unsure, really, why he is breaking like this. He shouldn’t feel this way. He has no reason to. Logically, he knows that no one is at fault - least of all, him.
Right?
…
Imagine sitting in a box. Your life, your whole life stuck inside four immensely cramped walls. You don’t know the sound of anyone other than the one authoritative voice. You don’t know how hands feel like against your skin other than rough callused palms, hard-hitting against your arms, your back, your face. You don’t know how happiness tastes like when someone smiles because of you. You don’t know the meaning behind a kiss, any kiss at all.
You sit in a box and you wonder, for the longest and loneliest of times, if this is perfection, because you don’t know any other way of living.
And then one day, this wind storm sweeps through your life, gives you armour and a sword, flashing his bright white smile all along, your cold hands warmed up by his breathing. You learn how to smile without building fences around you. You marvel at the way laughter sounds, that it is not jarring and harsh, but fluid and free.
When his hands go around your neck to fix you right, you learn to say no to everything you’ve been taught.
In that one kiss, you fought against your father.
That was the greatest battle you’ve ever partaken.
You killed a part of him, you massacred a part of you.
You are adrift, broken and utterly alone, more alone than you ever remember, and you had no choice but to cling onto your lone life support.
One day, your father was your everything that anchored you into being, that gave life to your name, your existence.
The next, he was your all that made Noah a beautiful word that meant something other than, you ungrateful little shit.
What happened then? Why did you fuck it up so bad, then? Why did you marry Ameera?
…To hold on to a memory, maybe.
To believe in grasping at something that wasn’t there: an image of your father that you never knew existed.
But what about the other things you’ve done?
Pushing him away.
Shoving, and punching, kicking and cursing him away.
He made it all so easy. Giving you a home, emotional support, a brand new spankin’ family, replete with shiny smiles and sparkly Christmases.
He made it too easy.
It used to be in your nature to take, to keep taking, the good things and the bad.
Mostly bad.
He gave you a sword and, you didn’t realize it, but it’s now pointing at him, straight in the chest, threatening to cut out his heart.
Once, you fought against your own blood so you could be with your achingly beautiful wind storm.
And you are not sure what happened, but now you’re fighting against him.
In the sunny horizon that lie within his eyes, you see eager love and human compassion but you also feel the looming walls encroaching your frame.
You fear making him your one and only because you fear he’ll box you in.
And now you’ve shoved him away so hard, you’ve pushed him off the cliff.
He’s in oblivion now and try as you might to convince yourself otherwise, your outreaching fingers cannot touch the fair-haired boy you once fought for.
You may have been blind for a long time but deep down you always knew that the growing lilt in his voice was not because of you.
You knew he was finding happiness somewhere else.
With someone else.
Somewhere above, you hear the uncanny rustling noise of cardboard flaps opening.
You peer into the night sky, breathless by how deep the colour of midnight is.
…
He sits on his bed, the room ink black, as he listens to his broken sobs.
What he needs is solitude to unchain the metal around his wrists, to unwind the rope around his neck.
He knows that he cannot love Luke without breaking him apart.
He knows he’s already lost the boy who is now a man in love with another.
He takes off his armour and hangs up his sword.
He cannot find it in him to fight anymore.